ScholarShip
by StripedHatter
Summary: it's a college au
1. Episode 1

**Episode 1: Why Are We Here?**

"You ever wonder why we're here?"

The guy in the orange shirt looked over at his roommate, who sat in the same fucking maroon sweatpants he had worn since they got to the god damn school.

"It's one of life's great mysteries, isn't it," the guy in the orange shirt, Dexter Grif, said, dusting cheese puff sauce off his hands. "Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of... some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a God... watching everything? You know, with a plan for us and stuff. I don't know man, but it keeps me up at night."

Silence fell between them. Maroon Sweatpants contemplated this reply while Dexter chomped down on another cheese-puff, coating his hands in another powdery layer of overly processed cheese.

"What?"

Dexter looked up at Maroon Sweatpant's question.

"I meant why are we out here, in this college?"

Dexter stared dumbly for a minute, and then covered with, "Oh, uh... Yeah."

Maroon Sweatpants- what was his last name? Samson? Simpson? Some stupid shit with an s- said, "What was all that stuff about God?"

A faint heat pinked Dexter's round cheeks. "Uh... Hm? Nothing."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Dexter dropped his bag of cheese puffs beside his chair and spun to face his computer desk, pretending to look for an essay he'd been avoiding. "No."

"You sure?"

Found it. "Yeah."

"Seriously, though, why are we out here?" Samsimpson asked."Far as I can tell, it's a run-down college in a poor county in the middle of nowhere, with no good offers or resources to get anyone in or out."

Dexter was still trying to forget about the stuff about God. "Mhm."

"And the only reason our town set up a college here, is because River Cliffs set up a college in their town. And the only reason they're still running a college over there is because we have a college over here."

"Yeah, that's because we're rivals," Dexter said, drawing an unintentionally curved line through his half-assed thesis statement.

"No, no, but I mean, even if we were to shut down today, and they took over the county's education fund, they would just have a run-down college in the middle of fucking nowhere. Whoop de fucking do!"

Dexter looked up at this. "What's up with that anyway? I mean, I signed on to get a degree and a fucking awesome suite. Next thing I know, the state cuts funding, and I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere, not learning shit, with a bunch of dumbasses for rivals."

* * *

Across Blood Gulch County, hunched around a laptop hacked into a tablet that showed a dinky room back in Redbridge, a guy in a teal- turquoise? aqua? what fucking color is it anyway?- shirt sat with a guy in a light blue shirt, who stared close at the monitor.

"What are they doing?"

The guy in the light blue shirt turned. "What?"

"I said, what're they doing now?"

The guy in the light blue shirt, named Leonard but preferring Church, groaned, a sound of complete exhaustion, the sound a headache would make if pain translated into drawn out exhales. "God damn, I'm getting so sick of answering that question!"

Teal-aqua-turquoise shirt guy- a weird kid from Detroit named Lavernius Tucker- threw his hands up. "Hey, you have the fucking laptop, I can't see shit. Don't bitch at me because I'm not going to just sit here and play with my dick all day."

"Okay, okay, look," Church sighed, "They're just sitting there, and talking, okay? That's all they're doing. That's all they ever do, is just sit there and talk. That's what they were doing last week, that's what they were doing when you asked me five minutes ago. So five minutes from now, when you ask me, 'What're they doing?' my answer's gonne be, 'They're still just talking, and they're still just sitting there!'"

A pause breathed between them, swollen with Church's elevated blood pressure and Tucker's undefeatable urge to be fucking annoying. Then:

"What're they talking about?"

Church looked over, the highest of resentments in his gray eyes. "You know what? I fucking hate you."

* * *

"Talk about a waste of resources," Dexter said, mulling over Santiago's considerably valid points. "I mean, we should be out there finding new and intelligent rivals to compete against. You know, debate them."

"Yeah, no shit," Spencer/Schmidt/Schneider conceded. "That's why they should put us in charge."

A voice that sounded like someone who had been shot in the throat maybe seven or eight times (but probably less than ten) suddenly came from the hall: "Ladies! Front and center, on the double!"

"Why does he run this thing like a fucking military? He's a god damn RA," Smith said.

"NOW!"

"Fuck!"

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

 _a/n: you ever wonder why we went to college?_


	2. Episode 2

**Episode 2: Redbridge Gets a Delivery**

"Hurry up, ladies, this ain't no ice cream social!"

"Ice cream social?"

SIMMONS, that was his name. Dexter nodded subtly to himself.

"Stop the pillow-talk, you two."

Redbridge had all of one RA- and that was Sarge. No one knew his real name. They only knew this grisled guy always wore the same tattered red button-down, which he claimed he sniped from "one of them Russian sons of bitches" back in "the war." What war he referred to, no one was really sure, but the mean look in his eye convinced everyone out of asking. He was supposed to be there on some military scholarship, to rehabilitate veterans... If you asked Dexter, the weekly commands to do pushups indicated Sarge hadn't taken his rehab all that seriously.

"Um, is it because school's over and we can all go home?" Dexter suggested.

"That's exactly it, private," Sarge said, voice saccharine with sarcasm. "School's over! You graduated. Turns out you're a big brainiac, and we're gonna hold a whole ceremony in your honor. I get to pick the cap and gown, and Simmons here, is in charge of confetti!"

"I'm no stranger to sarcasm, sir," Dexter said, suppressing his sigh.

"God dammit, private, shut your mouth or else I'll have Simmons here burn your essays while you're asleep!"

"Oh, I'd do it, too," Simmons said pleasantly. Dexter sighed out loud this time.

"I know you would, Simmons," Sarge said. "Good man. Couple of things today, ladies: admissions has seen fit to increase our ranks here at Redbridge Dormitory Number 1."

Dexter groaned. "Crap, we're getting a freshie."

"That's right, dead man," Sarge said. "Our new student will be here within the week. But today, we received the first part of our shipment from the county. Lopez... Bring up the asset."

From around a corner down the hall, a tired guy who only spoke Spanish (as far as his dorm-mates knew) appeared wheeling a minifridge.

"Dibs!" Simmons shouted.

"Dibs! Fuck!" Dexter shouted, just a minute too late.

"May I introduce," Sarge said with a sweeping gesture of his hand, "Our new light load compact refrigerator. It has a capacity of 2.4 cubic feet and adjustable shelves. Its sizable interior compartment makes it the perfect asset for those lazy assholes too bent on their ass to walk to the kitchen. May I introduce, the CoolWhite PR-1670."

"Que necesita un nuevo nombre," Lopez noted.

Sarge chuckled. "That's exactly right, Lopez- it's the perfect accessory to our dorms. I like to call it the Penguin."

"Why Penguin, sir?" Simmons asked.

"Because CoolWhite PR-1670 is too hard to say in conversation, son."

Dexter saw Simmons' point. "No, but... Why 'Penguin'? I mean, it doesn't look like a bird..."

Sarge's war hardness stiffened his brow. "Say that again?"

"I think it looks more like a harp seal," Dexter said.

Blood pressure visibly rising, Sarge said, "What in sam hell is a harp seal?"

"Uh..." Simmons took a guess. "You mean like in the Navy?"

"No, like a harp seal," Dexter said. "It's a sea creature. Like a walrus."

"You're making that up," Sarge said.

"I'm telling you, it's a real animal!"

Sarge turned to Simmons. "Simmons, I want you to poison Grif's next meal."

"Yes, sir!"

Sarge pointed at the minifridge. "Look, see the front? Looks like a big white belly. And what kind of animal has a big white belly?"

"A killer whale."

"Didn't I just tell you to stop making up animals!?"

* * *

Back on the other side of Blood Gulch County, Church and Tucker sit in the same dingy dorm, Church's face pressed close to his laptop as he spied on Redbridge, wondering what the actual fuck he was doing with his life.

Tucker glanced up and saw the big boxy white shape on the screen, hard to identify through the grease smeared across the one guy's tablet camera. "What is that thing?"

Church's eyes narrowed, staring hard into the dark, not the best look for him. "I don't know, but it looks like uh... Looks like they got some kinda minifridge. We'd better get back to HQ and report it."

"A minifridge?" Tucker couldn't suppress his outrage (inspired entirely by jealousy). "How come they get a minifridge?"

"What are you complaining about, man?" Church asked. "We get a new computer in the very next delivery."

"You can't pick up chicks with a computer," Tucker said, as if it should be obvious.

"Oh, you know what? You could bitch about anything, couldn't you? What chicks are we gonna pick up, man? And secondly, we can't pick up chicks with a minifridge, either!"

Another pause, the usual punctuation for their conversations, as usual ended by Tucker's irrepressable need to be fucking annoying: "Well, what kind of minifridge is it?"

"I don't know, it's just a fucking fridge. It looks like a, uh... Like a sea creature, maybe."

"...What, like a harp seal?"

"Yeah, man, there you go."

* * *

"So unless anybody has any more mythical creatures to suggest as a name for the new minifridge, we're gonna stick with 'the Penguin.' How about it, Grif?"

Hold the sigh, Dexter reminded himself. "No sir, no more suggestions."

"Are you sure? How 'bout Bigfoot?"

"That's okay."

"Unicorn?"

"No, really, I'm... I'm cool."

"Sasquatch?"

Simmons piped up, "Leprechaun?"

"Hey, he doesn't need any help man," Dexter said, elbowing his room-mate.

"Phoenix!" Sarge said.

"Huh... Christ," Dexter groaned.

"Hey, Simmons, what's the name of that Mexican lizard, eats all the goats?"

"Uh, that would be the Chupacabra, sir!"

"Hey Grif!" Sarge chuckled. "Chupathingie, how 'bout that? I like it! Got a ring to it..."


	3. Episode 3

**Episode 3: The Rookies**

"Hey, that's not exactly what happened."

"Yes, it is. You said, 'I'm not going to Las Vegas,' and then the next thing I know you're on a Greyhound headed for-"

"Excuse me, uh, sirs."

Simmons felt a faint breath of relief that Grif's story was abruptly brought to its end- and yet simultaneously felt the vein in his temple start pulsing again. There was only one person who would be calling him or Grif 'sirs': the fucking freshie.

"Sirs?" Simmons repeated in disbelief.

"Ah, crap," Grif said under his breath. To be fair, Simmons had to admit- never out loud, of course- there was a reason he and Grif never went to the quad. (The 'quad', of course, being a patch of cement with a picnic table just between the science building and the dorms.) It was their own stupid fucking fault for standing directly outside the dorm door, when no one else was outside, when they knew a freshie was incoming. Sure, at most colleges freshmen incoming wasn't that big of a deal- it happened a few times a year, hundreds of prospective new students with bright hopes and hearts not yet addled by caffeine, and the upperclassmen stepped into help or ignored them entirely. Redbridge, however, had very, very few freshmen- and even fewer in the direct middle of the semester.

"I was told to report to the Redbridge dorms and speak to whoever's in charge?"

"Sorry man," Grif said, "Sarge- the RA- is at the dean's office getting some paperwork done. Ain't nobody in charge today."

"Actually, he left me in charge while he's gone," Simmons noted.

Grif rolled his hazel eyes. "You are such a kiss-ass."

"Also, he told me if I had any trouble from you, I should," Simmons paused, clearing his throat and imitating Sarge, "'Drop the mini-fridge on you and crush yer head like a tomato-can.'"

"That's the worst impression I've ever heard," Grif said.

Simmons made the wise and self-celebratory decision to ignore Grif's harsh and undeserved criticisms. He turned to the freshie, who wore a shirt... Shockingly similar to Sarge's. "Okay freshie, what's your story?"

"Franklin Delano Donut officially enrolled, sir," the freshie said, his honest and self-assured blue eyes still undimmed by the abysmal surroundings. "I'm ready to get an education."

"Couple things here, freshie," Grif said. "First off, Donut? I think somebody needs a new nickname. Secondly, what's with the shirt?"

Donut glanced at himself. "This IS a standard issue red button-down."

"Yeah, I know," Grif continued, as Simmons debated the merits of interfering with Grif's unsuppressable insolence. "Only two kinds of people wear button-downs: nerds and old men. And since you're not babbling about coding or tabletop RPGs, you're probably not an officer."

Donut glanced at Simmons. "Well, he's wearing a red button-down."

"No, mine is maroon," Simmons said, "And it's a polo."

"Well," Donut's exasperation started to glint in his eyes already, the visible dwindling of eighteen years' hope. "Where do I go for new clothes?"

Simmons turned to Grif. "I bet River Cliffs doesn't have to put up with this kind of crap."

* * *

"So I say to the guy, 'How're you gonna deliver a desktop when there's no desk?' And he goes, 'You're going to carry in the box for the desk.' And I go, 'If you've got a desk that can carry the computer, why not put the computer on the desk and carry it that way instead?'"

Tucker met the freshie's blue eyes. "Hey kid."

"Yeah?"

"You're ruining the moment. Shut up."

Michael J. Caboose, the newest prisoner- er, student- of River Cliffs, glanced from his new dorm-mates, Church (who seemed really nice) and Tucker (who seemed kinda dumb), to the shiny new desktop PC on the smooth black desk. Church and Tucker both stared in awe and wonder. A piece of technology more advanced than any they had seen was currently launching a complicated startup, repeatedly asking them to input information none of them had. Tucker had been complaining profusely that there was no manual- but the shiny screen still held a seductive allure to the two, and Caboose could respect that. He wanted to fit in, after all.

"Oh, okay. You got it, man!"

"You know what?" Church said, a note of love in his voice. "I could hack the whole god damn world with this thing."

* * *

"Okay, Donut, here's the deal," Simmons said.

"I just refuse to call him Donut!" Grif exclaimed. Simmons' temple was pulsing again. Ignore Grif, ignore Grif, ignore Grif.

"We've got a very important task for you. You think you can handle it?"

Donut brightened at that. "Absolutely!"

"We need you to go to Walmart, and get some high-ruled paper."

"Yeah, and um," Grif tacked on, "Pick up some freezer fluid for the Harp Seal."

Donut turned to Simmons. "The what?"

"He means the Penguin."

"You do know where Walmart is, right, freshie?" Grif asked.

"What?" Donut nodded emphaticaly. "Yeah, yeah, of course I do. Sure, no problem."

Simmons gestured to the parking lot, where a grand total of twelve cars were parked. "Well, get going, then."

Donut turned and headed toward the science hall.

"Other way," Grif said with a tone of resignation.

"I knew that," Donut said, turning not-quite-suavely on his heel and heading back the other way. "Just got turned around, that's all."

Simmons stood watching with Grif as Donut hopped in his car and drove off.

"How long do you think until he figures out there's no Walmart?"

Grif contemplated. "I say, at least a week."

* * *

Winding streets greeted Franklin, turning around on themselves or else stretching endlessly with parched fields and dust. Once upon a time, Franklin's beat-up Ford Taurus had a GPS system set on the dashboard. Its shell still sat there- the poor thing got rained on when the windshield cracked, and it still emitted the occasional scattered dialogue, which Franklin kept for company.

"High-ruled paper, how stupid do they think I am?" Donut scoffed, thinking about the foot-tall stack of college-ruled paper in his room. "Once I get back to the dorms with that freezer fluid, I'm gonna talk to the RA."

* * *

 **"** You know what? **"** Tucker said, in his usual I'm-doing-my-best-to-be-fucking-annoying tone, "Forget what I said before. We can definitely pick up chicks with this thing. Probably two or three chicks a piece."

"Oh man, listen to you," Church said, his voice a bit less weary-caffeine-addled-college-kid-suffering-high-blood-pressure than usual in the wake of the new computer. "What're you gonna do with two chicks?"

"Church, women are like Voltron," Tucker explained, knowing that the comparison infinitely reduced his chance of ever getting chicks if he were overheard. "The more you can hook up, the better it gets."

* * *

The essay just wouldn't write itself, no matter what Simmons tried. Stupid words. Just link, he thought, staring hard at the notebook paper, where fat dark letters etched across the page. (Someone had once said he had girly handwriting- there's nothing wrong with adding a loop to y's and g's. Cursive doesn't discriminate gender, why should print?) The essay, on the theme of trained civility versus natural domination instincts in nineteenth century literature, seemed to glare at Simmons the potential effects of his earlier words. Simmons- who had spent middle and high school doing just the things Grif identified as nerd-related, tabletop RPGs and coding- should know better than anyone how hard it was to fit in, and how long a single insult could last.

Simmons turned to Grif. "You think we were too mean to the kid?"

Grif, his essay scattered sheets dusted with cheese-puff sauce that coated his hands as well, shrugged from his desk chair. His eyes were glued to the screen of his tablet, which he kept trying to wipe cheese-puff off, resulting in him smearing more cheese-puff crumbs onto it.

"Nah," Grif said. "He'll just wonder around the Cliffs for a few hours. What's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

That could be a Walmart. The sign- wordless, but where a sign would be- was blue. It didn't look like any Walmart Donut had ever seen- but, fuck it. Big gray building, blue top border, kinda squarish. It looked more like a Walmart than anything else he'd seen, and apparently this place didn't believe in signs.

"Finally, there it is."

Donut parked his car and headed into the building. This looked... Not like a store.

Then he spotted a shelf of magazines, a sign overhead reading $3, and a counter with a register on it. Had to be a store, right? Maybe not a Walmart- but they... They probably had freezer fluid, or could tell him where to find it. No harm looking around a bit, right?

Donut paused as he spotted a shiny display desk with a bright computer on top, a few boxes next to it. He gaped for a heartbeat.

"Oh, sweet! They sell PCs!"


	4. Episode 4

"Yeah, I'll let you in on a little secret, I've, uh... I've actually got a girl back home."

Church was feeling conversational in the wake of the new computer. He even felt like divulging some personal information, something he never did and often regretted.

"Oh, yeah?" Tucker asked, "Girlfriend or wife?"

"No, man, she's just my girlfriend, ya know?" Church said. "We were gonna get married, but I got shipped out, and... Ah, you know how it works."

Tucker probably didn't know how it worked, but Church didn't feel like explaining. His aqua-shirted room-mate asked, "Oh, well, are you gonna marry her when you get back?"

"I'm not gonna get married," the freshie- what was his stupid name, Caboose? Cabin? Who fucking knows- said. "My dad always said, 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?'"

Ah, there it was: The daily blood pressure spike. Church had thought it had been the freshie's arrival, but he stood corrected.

"Hey freshie..." Church turned slowly to face him. "Did you just call my girlfriend a cow?"

Tucker had a very punchable grin. "No, I think he called her a slut!"

"I'll tell you what, newb," Church said, "I could sit out here and listen to you insult my girlfriend all day, but as it turns out, I got a lot more important job for you to do."

"Great," Caboose said, in a tone that implied a sigh.

"See, we've got this Department of Education guy," Church said.

"Right, the DoE guy," Tucker said, picking up immediately.

"Who likes to come by and make random inspections of campuses," Church said. "So what I'm gonna have you do, is I'm gonna have you go in our dorm office, and stand right next to the mascot uniform. Just in case he decides to come by."

"When is he coming by?"

"We never know," Tucker answered. "Could be today, could be a week from now."

"You want me to stand in the office for a week?"

Church huffed. "You know, you don't sound very grateful. This is the most important job in the dorms. You're gonna be right there with the mascot uniform."

"What's so important about the mascot uniform?"

"Oh, come on, don't they teach you guys anything in high school?"

Caboose shrugged. "They didn't tell us anything about a mascot uniform. Why is it so important?"

"Because it's the mascot, man, you know, it's the... It's the mascot, it's... Tucker, you tell him why the mascot's so important."

Tucker glanced from Church to the freshie, and articulated, "Well, it's... It's complicated. Uh... It's blue, we're blue."

"It's just important, okay? Trust us," Church said. "So when the Department guy comes by, the first thing he's gonna want to do is make sure we still have the mascot uniform."

"Right," Tucker said.

"So just go in there, you know, far away from us, and wait for him."

Caboose turned toward the door, and then stopped and turned back. "Uh, how will I know when I see him?"

"There's only three of us here, freshie," Tucker said. "He's gonna be the guy that doesn't look like one of us."

"Now get in there," Church said, "And don't come out!"

Caboose turned and ran out the door, and Church sighed.

"Man, that guy is dumber than you are," he said to Tucker, sitting down on a bench by the door to their dorms.

"You mean he's dumber than you are."

"Wow, Tucker, that was a great come-back."

The door popped open again. Caboose poked his head in. "Uh, Mister Church, sir?"

"Oh my god, WHAT? Tucker, I swear, I'm gonna kill him!"

Caboose cleared his throat. "Sorry about calling your girl a slut-"

"Freshie! Shut up! Just, shut up! You're driving me crazy, get in there!"

Tucker, facing out into the mucky courtyard, let out a sound that almost sounded like a laugh. Church narrowed his eyes at the back of his head. 'Tucker, are you laughing at me?"

"Excuse me, sir, can I ask you a question?"

Church closed his eyes and tilted his head to the sky. "Dear God in Heaven, freshie, if I turn around, and you are not inside, I- I can't be held responsible for what I'm gonna do to you!"

"What did I do!?"

"One..."

"Aw, gimme a break."

"TWO!"

"Fine."

* * *

"Wow... You got here fast."

Donut faced some strange kid in an office who looked way too happy to be sitting next to a duffel bag and a metal desk. Donut suppressed a groan of exasperation. "Why is everyone so freakin' rude in this county?"

"I'm not, sir," the kid said with a bright smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Finally, someone with a little respect around here," Donut said.

"Yes, sir!" The stranger gestured to the duffel bag. "I assume you're here because of this..."

It looked like it could have clothes. Donut just wanted something to make the two guys at his dorms shut the fuck up. And he hadn't seen anything else. "Wait, is this all you have?"

"Uh, yes sir, that's it!"

"Aw, man, this figures," Donut said, sighing. "Shit. What about freezer fluid?"

"Uhhmmmm..."

Donut regretted his next words already. "High-ruled paper?"

"No, all we have is this bag."

"Well, I can't go back empty handed... I guess I'll take that."

The stranger tilted his head. "Sure... That makes sense. I guess."

Donut lifted the bag over his shoulder. "Man, they're gonna give me so much shit for coming back with just this stupid bag."

He left the office, running a hand through his carefully-ruffled hair. He'd bet money the Redbridge guys wouldn't even be impressed.

* * *

"Well, enough gabbing out of us- let's give this bad boy a try! Go ahead and log in, Tucker."

Tucker glanced from Church to the computer. "Me? I can't run that thing."

Church raised his eyebrows at Tucker. "You're telling me you're not Microsoft Certified?"

"I ca- I don't even know to use your fucking tablet. Don't you know how to run it?"

"No! Holy crap! Who is running this army!?"

Caboose ran into the room where the new computer was stored and Church's blood pressure spiked already. "Hey! Just wanted to let you know, the Department guy stopped by, and picked up the uniform!"

"Yeah, okay, whatever moron!" Church called back to him. "Why would they give us this computer, if nobody here knows how to run the damn thing? ...wait a second."

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"What did he just say?"


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